by Diana Lopez
Coco grabbed a pair of heels and buckled them around her ankles. Then, after making sure her braids were tight and straight, she went to the courtyard and found her mother setting down a bowl for the cat.
“Mamá,” Coco said, “I’m heading to town to pick up supplies for Oscar and Felipe.”
Mamá Imelda smiled as the cat messily lapped the milk. “They must need a lot of supplies,” she said. “You’ve been going to town almost every day.”
“Uh…yes…haha,” Coco chuckled nervously. “You know how they are—so disorganized.”
Mamá Imelda nodded, but she had a doubtful expression on her face. “Very well. Since you’re heading to town, can you also pick up some flour?”
“Of course,” Coco said, kissing her mother on the cheek before rushing away.
As she walked into town, she felt a little guilty because she’d told a lie. It was true that her uncles often sent her for supplies, but sometimes, like today, Coco went to town for other reasons. Secret reasons. And if Mamá Imelda knew what she was up to, she’d probably lock Coco in a dungeon—because Coco went into town so she could dance!
Many young people danced as the bands played in Mariachi Plaza. At first, Coco would sit on a bench to watch as they circled the plaza. Then she’d get restless, so she’d practice on the sidelines, copying the steps and pretending to have her own partner—until one day, Julio, a young man with a dark mustache, asked her to dance. First he taught her the rapid one-two-three of polkas. Coco loved the festive accordions and the way her heart raced as she and Julio skipped along with the quick beat. Then he taught her the waltz, her favorite. It, too, had a one-two-three rhythm, but much slower. At first Coco kept stepping on Julio’s feet, but eventually she learned to match his stride and to recognize the subtle pressure of his hands as he signaled her to twirl or change direction. Today they danced the polka and the waltz, and they would have danced all day if Coco hadn’t spotted a flower cart passing by.
“I have to get flowers for my mother,” she said. “She’s waiting.”
Julio nodded, and they went to the cart. Mamá Imelda hadn’t specified what kind of flowers she wanted, so Coco selected a bushel of daisies. Meanwhile, Julio bought her a red rose.
“You deserve a flower, too,” he said, making her blush. Coco tucked it in her hair, relishing its perfume as she walked home.
When she got there, she went to the kitchen, knowing it was time for Mamá Imelda to prepare dinner. “Here are the flowers,” she said, handing over the daisies.
Mamá Imelda looked confused. “I meant flour for cooking, not flowers.” Then she spotted the rose. “And where did you get that?” she asked, pointing.
Coco blushed again. “Oh…uh…this? The vendor was giving them away.”
“Hmmm…” Mamá Imelda muttered. She seemed unconvinced, but she let it go. “Well, go fill a vase with water. Perhaps tomorrow you can pick up the right kind of flour.”
“Yes, Mamá,” Coco said, relieved.
The next day Coco returned to town, but before going to the grocer, she went to Mariachi Plaza for more dancing. Julio beamed when she arrived. The band played a cumbia, so they grabbed hands and danced side by side. Other couples danced, too, and Coco couldn’t help laughing when she spotted a child holding both parents’ hands and hopping up to swing from them. She lived for these moments and was having a wonderful time until she turned a corner and gasped! Right beside the gazebo was a cat—Mamá Imelda’s cat—and it was staring straight at her!
She froze, and Julio asked what was wrong.
“My mother,” Coco said, nodding toward Imelda, who was standing beside the cat with her arms crossed and her eyes glaring.
Coco approached, hanging her head with shame. “Hola, Mamá.”
“I thought you seemed”—Mamá Imelda glanced at Julio—“distracted.” She bent down and lifted the cat to her shoulder. “Luckily, my gato has excellent tracking skills. She found you right away.” Then she turned to Julio and got right to business. “I’m Coco’s mother, and you are…?”
“Julio,” he answered, nodding with respect.
“And your intentions with my daughter?”
“Only the most honorable,” Julio answered quickly. He turned to Coco and looked at her directly. “I wish to marry her someday.”
Coco’s eyes widened and her heart raced, for this was how she felt about him, too.
But Mamá Imelda had a practical, rather than romantic, personality. “Do you have a trade?” she asked, listening carefully as Julio listed his skills. One in particular got her attention. “You can do upholstery?” she asked.
“Sí, señora. My abuelo has a shop.”
She thought a minute. “If you can do upholstery, then surely you can make shoes.”
“I have never tried,” Julio answered, “but I’m a fast learner.”
Mamá Imelda nodded and glanced back and forth from Coco to Julio. She seemed to be making a decision. Then her cat purred into her ear.
“Very well,” she said. “Tomorrow you will come to the hacienda to meet the family and visit the shoemaking shop. And then, if you decide this is what you truly want, you can become our apprentice.”
“I would appreciate the opportunity,” Julio said.
“But there’s one important rule,” Mamá Imelda continued.
Julio nodded and ventured a guess. “Everyone says that the Riveras are the finest shoemakers in town, but that they don’t allow music.”
“Yes,” she said. “It brings us painful memories.”
“It’s because of my father,” Coco explained with regret in her voice. “He loved music more than anything else.”
“And he left us to pursue his dream,” Mamá Imelda added. “We never heard from him again.” She paused to let this sink in. “Music hurt this family, so we choose to live without it.”
Julio seemed truly saddened by this, but then he said the magic words. “Family comes first. That’s what I believe. And if your family has a rule against music, then I will honor it.”
Later, as Coco headed home with her mother, her heart ached. On the one hand, she was glad that Julio accepted her family’s conditions and placed love over selfish desires. On the other hand, she felt hurt that she’d never dance with him again.
“Can’t we have music?” Coco asked her mother. “Not every day but sometimes? On special occasions?”
“Why would we want to ruin special occasions with painful memories?”
“But Mamá, it can’t be as bad as we think. After all, music and dancing is how I met Julio.”
“And shoes, m’ija, is how you will stay with him.”
Miguel sprints to town, Dante at his feet. He passes an overturned trash can, a bike with a flat tire, and a fallen tree. Everything seems as broken as he feels, everything except for a large poster announcing the talent show. Seeing it gives Miguel new hope.
He finally reaches Mariachi Plaza and marches straight to the gazebo where the stage manager is setting up.
“I wanna play in the plaza. Like de la Cruz! Can I still sign up?”
“You got an instrument?” the stage manager asks.
“No, but if I can borrow a guitar—”
“Musicians gotta bring their own instruments.” As the stage manager starts to walk away, he tells Miguel, “You find a guitar, kid, and I’ll put you on the list.”
For a moment, Miguel’s shoulders slump, but he will not give up. He will fight for his dream with everything he’s got, so he approaches the first mariachi he sees. “Excuse me, may I borrow your guitar?”
“Sorry, muchacho.”
He moves on, finding a pair of musicians practicing. “You guys have a spare guitar?” When they say no, he starts to panic. There must be someone who will lend him an instrument! He pushes his way through the gathering crowd, looking for another musician and finally finding one. “I need a guitar,” he explains, “just for a little bit.”
“Get outta here, kid!”
Will no one help? Miguel wonders. He hangs his head, puts his hands in the front pockets of his red hoodie, and meanders around the plaza trying to figure out what to do. If only Abuelita hadn’t ruined his guitar!
Eventually, he finds himself at the statue of Ernesto de la Cruz. He looks up and gazes at the famous face. “Great-great-grandfather, what am I supposed to do?”
He half expects an answer even though the statue’s made of stone, but of course, statues cannot speak. Once again, he hangs his head, but then his gaze falls upon the plaque at the base of the statue: SEIZE YOUR MOMENT. Miguel reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out the photo of the headless de la Cruz with his guitar. At that moment, a firework goes off, its colorful light illuminating the skull-headed guitar that the statue holds, and Miguel gets a great idea.
He runs to the cemetery with his constant companion, Dante. When he gets there, the gravesites are decorated for Día de los Muertos with flowers and candles. Many families are gathered around. A teenaged boy reverently places a doll beside a tombstone for his sister who died very young. A family spreads a picnic blanket and enjoys pan dulce, making sure to leave some for a beloved aunt. A fútbol team gathers at a coach’s grave and summarizes the latest games. A young couple shows off their toddler, bragging into the air for the ghosts of their ancestors to hear.
It’s a small town. Miguel worries that someone will recognize him and tell his family where he is, so he sticks to the shadows and manages to slip by unnoticed. Finally, he reaches his destination: the mausoleum of Ernesto de la Cruz!
Miguel slinks around the side, and Dante barks excitedly.
“No, no, no, no, no! Dante, stop!” The last thing Miguel needs is attention. “¡Cállate! Shhh!”
He swipes a chicken leg from a neighboring grave and throws it. Dante can’t resist, so he runs off. Finally, Miguel can inspect the mausoleum in peace. He peeks through the window and spots the famous guitar hanging above the crypt. More fireworks pop, and bursts of light glint
off the instrument. The guitar is calling him—Miguel knows it! Instruments are meant to be played, not to be locked in a tomb, and this instrument, the guitar of his great-great-grandfather, is meant to be played by Miguel.
More fireworks go off, and Miguel studies the pattern by counting off the seconds between booms. Then, in perfect timing with the explosions, he throws his shoulder against the latch, breaking it so he can open the window. After glancing around to make sure no one heard, he slips into the mausoleum. The noises outside are muffled by the thick walls, and every footstep echoes eerily. He realizes he’s holding his breath—because it’s spooky in the mausoleum, but also because he’s excited to be so close to a legend of music. After giving himself a moment to breathe, he climbs onto the crypt, slightly moving the lid and disturbing the marigold petals sprinkled about, and then comes face-to-face with the guitar. He wipes away the dust and admires the richly painted wood beneath.
“Señor de la Cruz?” Miguel says cautiously. “Please don’t be mad. I’m Miguel, your great-great-grandson.” He bows his head slightly. “I need to borrow this.”
With his heart pounding, Miguel lifts the guitar off its mount.
“Our family thinks music is a curse,” he says. “None of them understand, but I know you would have. You would’ve told me to follow my heart. To seize my moment!” He backs up a bit. “So if it’s all right with you, I’m gonna play in the plaza, just like you did.”
With the guitar in his hands he feels confident, as if destined for this moment. He boldly strums the guitar, but just once, because as soon as the chord sounds, the air around him vibrates, hitting him like a shock wave. The marigold petals begin to glow as brightly as the fireworks outside. Miguel shakes his head. What just happened? he wonders.
Then he spots light at the window. Oh, no! He’s about to be caught! A voice from outside says, “The guitar! It’s gone! Somebody stole de la Cruz’s guitar! Look!”
Miguel hears keys jangling in the door. Then a groundskeeper enters with a flashlight. “All right, who’s in there?”
In a panic, Miguel sets down the guitar and puts up his hands, like someone about to be arrested. “I…I’m sorry! It’s not what it looks like! De la Cruz is my—”
Before he can finish, the groundskeeper walks straight through him! The sensation reminds Miguel of the nausea he feels when he’s on a fast carnival ride. He glances at his hands, and they are slightly transparent. How can this be? Wait a minute.… He can’t believe it. He’s a ghost!
The groundskeeper picks up the guitar. “There’s nobody here!”
A man from outside answers, “Okay! We’ll check around back.”
Miguel rushes away, the whole time wondering if he’s truly a ghost. It seems impossible, but it must be true, because people keep walking through him. Each time, Miguel feels sick to his stomach.
Then he hears his name. “Miguel!” When he turns, he sees Papá and Mamá, calling for him. He no longer wants to escape his family. They are the only people who can calm his fears.
He rushes to them. “Mamá!” he says, reaching for her, but it’s no use. He goes straight through her, too!
“Miguel!” his father calls. “Come home! Where are you, Miguel?”
How can he live like this? Invisible, with no way of speaking to his family? This has to be a nightmare! He backs away, frantic, and then falls into an open grave.
“Dios mío!” a woman says. “Little boy, are you okay?” She reaches into the grave and offers a helpful hand. “Here, let me help you.”
Miguel takes her hand, and she pulls him out.
“Thanks, I—”
Miguel and the woman stare at each other face-to-face, and that’s when he realizes: the woman who helped him is a skeleton! He screams, and so does she. Afraid, he backs away, but then he falls backward from the shock of spotting more skeletons! As he frantically scoots away, he bumps into another skeleton, whose head falls off and lands in Miguel’s hands.
“Do you mind?” the skeleton head says.
Miguel gasps, and the skeleton screams. “Ahhh!”
Miguel screams, too. “Ahhh!”
He throws the head, and as it tumbles away, he notices that the whole cemetery is teeming with the dead! He can’t believe what he’s seeing—clavicles, vertebrae, femurs, phalanges, and every single suture, fossa, and tubercle on the skeletons’ bones! But perhaps the worst part is that they can see him, too! And they are just as surprised as he is.
“He can see us?”
“He’s alive!”
“Impossible…”
“Dios mío!”
Miguel races off and hides behind a large tombstone. He frantically tries to figure things out.
“It’s a dream. I’m just dreaming.”
He tries to wake himself up by vigorously shaking his head. It doesn’t work, so he pinches himself, and then he slaps both sides of his face. Nothing works! He’s still asleep. Or maybe he isn’t asleep. Maybe this is real!
Afraid but curious, Miguel peeks around the tombstone and sees the skeletons interacting with their living families. One couple dances. Another skeleton reaches for the bag of chicharrones left beside his tombstone. At his touch, the bag disappears from the land of the living and solidifies in the skeleton’s hands. Miguel shakes his head again, questioning what he sees.
He stoops behind a bush and finds himself near skeletons who are gazing at the toddler he’d spotted earlier.
“Look how big she’s getting,” says the abuela skeleton. “She has my nose, ¿que no?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the abuelo skeleton remarks. “You don’t have a nose anymore.”
The abuela pokes at the big hole in the middle of her face where her nose used to be. “My lips, then. She definitely has my lips.”
“If your skull-head had lips, I’d be kissing you all the time.” The abuelo stoops to kiss her, their teeth clacking as they meet.
Miguel sneaks along, hiding behind a tre
e to spy on a skeleton wearing a baseball cap and a whistle around his neck. He’s holding a championship trophy the fútbol team left behind. He’s the coach, Miguel realizes.
He moves on to the family having a picnic. “Here’s a cuernito for Lucinda,” the woman says, placing a horn-shaped piece of pan dulce before the gravesite. “They were your sister’s favorite.”
“No, they weren’t,” says the man. “She liked buñuelos.” He sets down a stack of buñuelos.
“Ay!” the skeletal Lucinda says. “No one ever remembers my favorite!”
“Here, Tía Lucinda,” a teenaged girl says. “A giant piece of chocolate cake.”
Lucinda cheers. “Finally! My favorite dessert from my favorite niece.”
The family stands to fold up the blanket, and once they’ve packed up, the man gets serious, and his wife and daughter put their hands on his shoulders. “I miss her. She really knew how to enjoy life.”
The teenager nods. “I want to be just like her,” she says, and after a solemn moment, they walk away.
Lucinda looks after them. “Well, I guess I did know how to enjoy life,” she says. “And with these delicious desserts, I can enjoy death, too.” She giggles as she takes all the snacks, and once again, Miguel is amazed when the treats disappear from the cemetery just as they materialize in her skeletal hands.
Suddenly, Dante surprises him by licking his cheek.
“Dante?!” Miguel says. “You can see me?” He feels so relieved but also confused. “W-wait, what’s going on?”
Dante barks, points with his nose, and bounds through the crowd.
“Dante!” Miguel calls as he gives chase. They leap over tombstones, skid on sharp turns, and when Dante races between the legs of a man, Miguel races through him. The only advantage of being invisible, Miguel thinks, is not bumping into people. But then, bam!—he slams into a mustached skeleton with enough force to break apart and scatter all the bones.
When the head pops up, Miguel is in for another surprise. Not only does this skeleton see him, but it also knows his name!
